And kiss it he did. His tongue swirling over her flesh. He kissed the backs of her knees, her thighs. He trailed his mouth along her spine. Heavenly. So heavenly. And unfair.
Unfair that in this position she couldn’t touch him.
Rolling over, she wound her arms around his neck and brought him down to her. She thought she’d never have enough of this, of touching him, of having him touch her. It was as if they knew everything about each other, even as they made new discoveries.
He was ticklish under his arms, jerking if her fingers got too close. She was ticklish on the inside of her hips, laughing when he skimmed his fingers over them.
They teased each other, bringing each other close to that moment when the world faded away and there was nothing except the two of them. Only to retreat and start the dance of seduction over.
She thought she would go mad with the wanting. She began urging him to hurry.
“Now,” she gasped. “Now. I need you now.”
He rose above her and plunged inside her. They were each so ready for the other that they were straining and bucking against each other, leaping over the edge until there was nothing except the pleasure.
Nothing except each other.
Epilogue
From the Journal of Lucian Langdon,
the Earl of Claybourne
They say my parents were murdered in the London streets by a gang of ruffians.
I now know that to be untrue.
They were killed by my father’s brother, my uncle. And fate, in its mysterious ways, delivered him to my hand for retribution.
My memories have slowly begun to drift out of the dark shadows where I banished them for so long.
I remember standing beside my father at the pond. He was so much taller than I. To me he appeared to be a giant. Yet he always made me feel safe, and I strive now to give my own children that sense of well-being.
And the old gent. I know him now as my grandfather, and I think of him with increasing fondness. I regret that I was not as certain of my place beside him while he was alive—I regret even more that he was aware of my misgivings. Yet I know he never doubted, and I shall do all in my power to ensure that his faith in me was not misplaced.
When I was small, he would hoist me upon his lap, hold me near, and tell me tales of my ancestors. And on sunny mornings, with my small hand nestled in his larger one, we would walk over the moors, where he taught me to gather flowers to give to my mother.
My mother. I can see her so clearly now. She had the gentlest of smiles. I remember her tucking me into bed at night and whispering that I would become an exceptional earl.
My wife assures me that is the way of it, that I have fulfilled my mother’s prediction, but then she is rather biased. She loves me in spite of my flaws. Or perhaps because of them.
My friendship with Jack remains strained. I want to believe that he was duped, but he has always been far too clever to fall for another man’s ruse. So we have added yet one more thing to our relationship about which we never speak. Sometimes I think we will break beneath the weight of it, but on those occasions I have but to look at my wife in order to find the strength to carry on. I am determined to be worthy of her and that requires that I be a far stronger and better man than I had ever planned to be.
We see Frannie from time to time, not as often as we’d like unfortunately. She did eventually marry, but that is her story to tell.
